CassaStar (16 page)

Byron shrugged. “It was a routine mission,” he replied.

Bassa regarded him with a steady gaze. “Sometimes those can be the most telling,” he explained. “You flew well for your first mission.”

Byron managed a brief nod of appreciation. He was not ready to display acceptance of his new navigator, though. Grasping the ladder, Byron retreated from Bassa’s presence.

The men reconvened in the debriefing room, and listened to the squadron leader’s assessment of the morning’s mission. When Larnth finished, those around Bassa came to life and began to ask questions.

“
What prompted you to come out of retirement?”

“
Why were you assigned to the Sorenthia?”

“
Is this assignment permanent?”

Annoyed with the enthusiasm of the other officers, Byron sidestepped the group surrounding Bassa. He escaped their notice and exited the room. Unprepared for intense scrutiny, Byron felt relief as he reached the safety of the teleporter pod. However, it irritated him that Bassa commanded such attention. It seemed to go beyond the senior officer’s accomplishments, and Byron found himself caught in a rare moment of envy. No one was ever happy to see him.

Returning to his quarters, Byron showered and changed. He intended to complete his very first flight report before exploring the ship. If time permitted, he’d end the day with a solitary game of gravball. His first priority was food, though.

Emerging from his quarters, Byron proceeded toward the dining hall. As he passed the quarters beside his own, the door slid open, and he was surprised to see Bassa. He faltered as their eyes met. His inclination was to acknowledge the senior officer with a nod and continue on his way. It occurred to Byron that might not be the appropriate way to treat his new navigator, though. Fighting the urge to run, he paused for a moment.

“
On your way to the dining hall?” Bassa asked as he joined him in the corridor.

Byron nodded, aware that he was about to acquire a dining partner.

“
Mind if I join you?”

“
No,” Byron said quickly before his true answer could surface.

The men walked the short distance to the dining hall in silence. Once they’d retrieved their food, Byron and Bassa turned to face the crowded hall. Almost immediately, another officer flagged down the men, and Bassa moved to join him. Reluctantly, Byron followed his navigator.

“
Officer Bassa, please join us,” the man enticed.

Those present shifted their position, providing the newcomers room at the end of the table. Bassa sat next to the man and Byron took the seat across from his partner. The man at his elbow nodded at Byron and turned at once to Bassa.

“
It’s an honor to have you join our squadron,” he stated with pride. “Your service record and achievements are legendary.”

Bassa flashed a patient smile. “Legend implies I’m dead,” he said, lifting his drink. “And I am very much alive!”

The man beside Bassa chuckled. “Well, only a few of us remember your days of active service.”

“
But the rest of us recall your training!” an officer further down the table offered.

That elicited laughter from those present. The man beside Bassa offered his hand.

“
Don’t know if you remember, but we served on the Masenna together,” he said.

Bassa exchanged handclasps, a wry smile on his face. “Deacer, how could I forget you? Even if that was many years ago.”

“
More than I care to count!” Deacer exclaimed, the deep lines around his eyes and mouth reflecting the years. “Guess you remember my pilot, too.”

The officer beside Byron exchanged greetings with Bassa. Hannar’s deep voice resonated with experience, and while neither man appeared as old as Bassa, they were both many years Byron’s senior. The men at the table were all older by a decade or more, and he felt very conspicuous in his youth. Compared to the other officers, he was just a boy.

Bassa smiled at Byron. “And this is my pilot, Byron,” he announced with pride.

Byron looked up from his food and realized everyone at that end of the table now stared at him. Swallowing his food in haste, he offered a curt nod.

“
Good to meet you, son,” said Hannar, roughly patting his shoulder.

Unaccustomed to physical touch, Byron flinched ever so slightly before regaining his composure. He could prevent the mental invasion of his privacy, but not the physical, and had learned to endure such gestures.

Deacer shook his hand, his eyes studying the young pilot. Byron returned to his meal, content just to listen to the discussions around him. The men continued to ask many questions of Bassa, and Byron wondered if they’d permit his navigator to eat. Bassa knew how to control a conversation, though, and enticed the others to speak. Byron listened with interest as they spoke of past assignments and alien encounters.

“
Most recent problems have been with the Vindicarn,” Deacer announced, brushing the straggly locks from his square forehead. “Damned fighters are fast, too.”

“
Yes, I’ve been monitoring the encounters,” Bassa replied. “They seem to be increasing.”

Hannar nodded and leaned forward on the table. “Mostly skirmishes, but the Vindicarn have been patrolling the edge of Cassan space for the past month. And occasionally crossing that border, I might add.”

“
Peaceful negotiations not effective?” inquired Bassa, reaching for his drink.

“
Hardly!” scoffed Hannar. “The Arellens have dealt with them for years, but it’s an uneasy truce at best. At the moment, they show no interest in talking with the Cassan fleet.”

“
They send out raiding parties to secure new territories. Guess they’ve decided to venture into our part of the galaxy,” Deacer offered. “Now that they’ve developed new technology, they’re looking to expand their domain.”

“
The disrupters?”

Bassa’s query perked Byron’s interest. Secluded on Guaard for the past six months, he’d heard only bits and pieces from the outside world. However, news of the Vindicarn’s disrupters had penetrated that protective bubble and created quite a stir among the trainees.

“
Haven’t seen them in action yet,” Hannar admitted. “I understand the weapon not only knocks out teleporters, it fries a man’s senses. Couple that with the Vindicarn’s bold aggression and it makes them a dangerous enemy.”

“
Well, they better not consider us an easy target,” Deacer declared, placing his fist on the table. “Just let them try to take any of our planets by force!”

Byron mulled this information over in his mind as the discussion shifted to lighter topics. Finishing his meal, he set down his fork and reached for his drink. Upon lowering the empty glass, he realized the officer beside Deacer was staring at him.

“
So, where was your last post?” the man asked, his brows drawn together.

The suspicious tone alerted Byron at once. Stalling for time, he licked his lips and returned the glass to the table. His answer would not please those gathered.

“
Guaard,” he replied.

Deacer frowned. “You’re too young to be an instructor,” he observed.

The man beside the navigator gasped. “You just finished training?” he exclaimed in a loud voice. “A wet-behind-the-ears rookie?”

The rest of the table grew still. Byron felt his defenses rise as shock and indignation rippled through the group. He was about to offer a sharp retort when Bassa intervened.

“
Yes, and he’s one of the best damn pilots to ever complete the program!” he stated.

Byron knew that tone all too well and wondered if any would dare challenge his navigator’s assessment. Despite Bassa’s words, he sensed the mood of the table had changed. The men resented the presence of an unproven pilot in their squadron. He struggled to contain the anger that rose in his chest and clenched his fists under the table. They had passed judgment without allowing him the opportunity to prove himself.

“
That’s a first,” someone muttered.

Deacer shifted his position but no one else spoke.

Don’t let it bother you,
Bassa’s voice echoed in his head.
You will prove your worth in time.

Byron lifted his chin and met Bassa’s eyes.
In time?

Rising from the table, he cast an icy glare at those seated before departing. There were things Byron wanted to accomplish today.

Byron completed his report and then set out to explore the ship. For the most part, he enjoyed the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. Those he passed were busy with duties and paid the young pilot little heed. Ending his investigation of the Sorenthia with the ship’s workout facility, Byron spent the remainder of his afternoon taking out his frustrations on one of the gravball courts.

Arriving late in the dining hall on purpose, he discovered the room less than half occupied. Bassa was present and surrounded by other officers. Byron didn’t want to endure another unpleasant scene and selected an unoccupied table in the corner. The hall continued to empty as men departed in small groups, but Byron’s presence failed to attract attention.

He noticed Bassa as the man rose to his feet. Several other officers followed suit and Byron assumed his navigator would remain with friendly company. To his surprise, the senior officer broke away from the group and approached Byron’s table. Straightening his posture, he waited while Bassa took the seat opposite him at the table.

“
I wondered if you were skipping the evening meal,” Bassa observed, assuming a relaxed pose.

Byron regarded his partner with suspicion, contemplating his response. “Just skipping the company,” he answered, his eyes scanning the room.

“
I told you not to worry about the others. You’ll earn their respect from the cockpit.” Bassa leaned against the table, his hands clasped together. “At any rate, you can’t let it affect your attitude or become a distraction. Just ignore the negative comments.”

“
Ignore the fact they don’t want me here?” Byron growled.

“
They don’t know your capabilities, yet,” explained Bassa. He pointed a finger at Byron. “You can only control your attitude, not theirs. Take the high road and let it slide. The men will trust and like you when they know you better.”

Lowering his gaze, Byron stabbed at the remains of his meal. “I don’t exactly excel at making friends, you know,” he stated.

Stunned by the bluntness of his own words, Byron brought his fork down with great force on a chunk of meat. He tossed it into his mouth, hoping to prevent further thoughts from tumbling unchecked from his lips. On the other side of the table, he heard Bassa sigh.

“
Yes, of that I am well aware,” his navigator said in a low voice.

Lifting his head, Byron flashed Bassa an angry look, but there was neither malice nor condemnation in the man’s eyes. The senior officer was quite capable of appearing cold and indifferent, but his expression lacked harsh judgment. To his surprise, Byron detected regret in his partner’s thoughts.

Feeling exposed and self-conscious, he shifted his position. “Fine, I’ll try to work with them,” he offered.

Bassa slapped his hands on the table and rose to his feet. “Appreciate it. Well, the commander requested my presence this evening, so I’ll leave you to your meal,” he said briskly. “Evening, Byron.”

Byron nodded. “Evening.”

He stabbed at his food for a moment before rising to deposit his tray on the counter and return to his quarters. The shock of Bassa’s appearance had worn off but not Byron’s resistance to the man’s presence on the Sorenthia. Bassa’s navigational style felt awkward and Byron missed Trindel’s gentle guidance. He felt inhibited, as if every move now fell under the scrutiny of the senior officer.

The status of Cosbolt pilot implied freedom, but not while Byron lay chained to the one person he’d hoped to escape.

Chapter Eight

Patrols filled the next three days and their squadron pulled double duty. Officer Larnth sent the men through an exhaustive training exercise on the fourth day, focusing on intricate tactics and maneuvers. Byron felt as if he were on Guaard again, especially with Bassa occupying the navigator seat in his cockpit. To his credit, the senior officer was quite familiar with the drills. Bassa prevented Byron from committing errors during the more complex maneuvers. He still felt uneasy with his new navigator, but Bassa did bring skill and experience to their team.